


he who holds the key

by plingo_kat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chastity Device, Cock Cages, I'm Sorry, M/M, not even that much smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: “You’remine,” Noctis says, eyes narrow slits in his face. He’s practically snarling. “You’remyShield. Nobody else should be able to control you like that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=572745#cmt572745) at the ffxv kmeme: "Gladio wearing a cock cage for his prince. Gladio really gets off on denying himself and getting Noctis to act like a king and taking control of something. Even if it's Gladio's dick.
> 
> \+ Noctis making Gladio fuck him with a strap on  
> ++ Noctis telling Gladio he's too lazy to do it so Gladio better milk himself  
> +++ Noctis sucking Gladio while he's still wearing the cage"

He shouldn’t have worn it to sparring practice. Gladio _knows_ he shouldn’t have done it -- Noctis has been steadily improving, reliably getting in at least one good hit each session for the past couple of weeks -- but Gladio wakes up late that morning, half-hard, and barely has time to piss let alone deal with what would become a full erection if he takes off the cage.

 _Shouldn’t have done it,_ he thinks repeatedly in the back of his mind, in the one part that’s not overtaken by stupefied horror. _Shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have done it…_

“ _Why_?” Noctis says, sounding genuinely confused: only confused, not horrified or repulsed. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Only if you do it wrong,” Gladio snaps on autopilot. _Shouldn’t have done that, either, you idiot._ “Look, it’s none of your business. Just forget about it. Get back in your stance.”

Noctis ignores him as usual, the fucking brat, and even creeps closer. “Let me see.”

Gladio, _like an idiot_ , lies sprawled out on the ground and lets him.

The thing is, though, the thing is: Gladio has always been fascinated by service, and by denial; his father often talked about how Gladio would give up everything for his future king as he did for Regis. And Regis was _handsome_ , charismatic, just familiar enough to be human instead of godlike -- to a young teen, he was irresistible. Gladio nursed a secret, impossible crush for nearly two years, thinking about how he might be directed, taught, ordered to receive pleasure; he woke gasping from half-remembered dreams with the king’s title on his lips. When that finally faded and he’d been dating for a while, he met an older woman who introduced him to cock cages. And now here he is.

“It’s _pretty._ ” Noctis sounds so surprised, it’s almost funny.

Gladio’s brain finally comes back online. “Okay.” He pulls his pants up sharply, holding them together with a hand clenched tight at his waist. “Show’s over. Get back into your stance and start your drills.”

Noctis narrows his eyes. Gladio braces for a fight, but Noctis doesn’t say anything; he goes back to the center of the room and calls his sword. After he makes it through three reps, Gladio retreats to the locker room to find another pair of pants.

 

Nothing happens for a week. Gladio hopes that’s it: a training accident, weird and potentially embarrassing, never to be talked about again.

He _really_ should have known better.

“Who keeps the key?” Noctis corners Gladio in the gardens, a thunderous scowl on his face.

“Huh?” Gladio says. He’s in the middle of a particularly good scene in his latest ten-gil paperback, where the heroine has revealed a plot against her romantic interest and is about to ride to his rescue. He looks up with a frown.

“Who keeps your key?” Noctis repeats, impatient. He’s actually angry, Gladio realizes, the deeply offended type of anger that only smoulders to life when he’s had time to brood over some steep injustice. This is rare; for all that Noct is a sullen little brat, he’s generally forgiving.

“What key?” Gladio says, except then he remembers what happened in training last week. “No--I know. It’s none of your business, that’s who.”

“You’re _mine_ ,” Noctis says, eyes narrow slits in his face. He’s practically snarling. “You’re _my_ Shield. Nobody else should be able to control you like that.”

“What?” Gladio closes his book. He’s too offended to take notice of the ‘else’ in Noctis’ accusation. “You don’t _own_ me, you little--”

“I do!” Noctis bursts out, face red. His face twists up even as his shoulders hunch. “I do, just like I own every citizen of Lucis -- you’re _my_ responsibility -- your _life_ \--”

Gladio realizes abruptly that Noctis is on the verge of crying. This is new territory. While Ignis might have seen this side of the prince, Gladio tends to get bursts of violence or general slice-of-life type stuff; Noctis has never expressed fear or doubt to Gladio, not really. He hovers awkwardly before he thinks: what would he do if Iris were frustrated to tears? and takes a step forward. Noctis leans into him without protest when Gladio presses his palm to the back of his neck, and Gladio wraps his other arm loosely around Noctis’ shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, soothing. “Breathe.”

“Shut up,” Noctis says, muffled, but his hands come up to grip tight in Gladio’s jacket.

“What brought this on?” Gladio says after they stand that way for a while, listening to the birds chirp distantly in the trees. He rubs slow circles on Noctis’ back. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Noctis pulls away. Gladio lets him go, searching his face for clues, but Noctis’ eyes are dry and he looks like he usually does, except maybe with a deeper than usual furrow in his brow. “Nothing happened.”

He’s definitely lying, but pushing him now won’t do any good. Gladio is too pissed to be careful. “Okay,” he says instead. “Then I’m going to go back to my book.”

“Yeah,” Noct says. He won’t meet Gladio’s eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Gladio echoes. He sits back down on the bench and picks up his book, pretending to read. By the time he looks again Noctis is gone.

 

“I looked it up,” Noctis says the next morning. They’re taking a two minute break in between spars, Gladio standing with his bokken over his shoulder, Noctis sitting on the ground. “It’s supposed to stop you from, you know. Right?”

“If you can’t even say it, I’m definitely not talking about it with you,” Gladio says. He considers cutting the break short, but Noctis has it in his head now, he’s not going to let go. Might as well get it over with.

“It stops you from jerking off,” Noctis mutters. He glares at Gladio through his bangs. “Right?”

Gladio heaves a sigh. He really, really wants to call off this break and whack Noctis with a wooden sword some more. Instead he folds his legs under him and sits down.

“Yeah,” he says. “Not that it’s any of your business. Still,” he adds pointedly.

“You don’t have anybody to hold your key.” Noctis ignores him. “You don’t have time.”

Which is true, damnit. Glaldio spends every waking hour either training or following Noct around, or else being pulled into political lessons with Ignis. He _doesn’t_ have time for, well. For anyone other than the future king.

“Why do you even care?” It’s not the real question Gladio wants to ask, but it’s close enough. He wants to know.

Noctis stays silent for a long moment. Then, “Don’t hit me,” he says abruptly, and crawls into Gladio’s lap.

It’s… bad. Noctis’ weight puts painful pressure on his crossed ankles, and they’re both sweaty and kind of gross. Gladio’s so surprised that Noctis has to bite him to get him to respond, and Gladio’s sudden jerk has them both falling over onto the mats.

“What the hell?” Gladio sputters from underneath Noctis, still vaguely stunned.

Instead of answering Noctis squirms up to straddle him, hands on either side of head. Noctis’ eyes are vividly blue in contrast to the redness of his face.

“My dad’s dying,” he says. His voice is flat, just stating the facts: the king is dying. “The Crystal is eating him up. When he’s gone, it’s going to eat me.”

Noctis says the last part like he doesn’t care, all his despair saved for his father. It makes Gladio’s heart pound. He wants to shake Noctis, rattle some sense into him: he can’t die. Gladio is supposed to protect him.

“I don’t have time either,” Noctis says. “I want--”

This is where he stops, where his voice fails him. His jaw clenches hard enough that Gladio can see the tendon there jump. 

“Noctis,” Gladio says, helplessly.

“Sorry.” Noctis shakes his head, and starts to push off him. “You don’t--”

“Hey.” Gladio catches his arm and pulls him down again, _oof_ -ing a little at the impact. “Noct, hey, slow down. How about you give me a little time to catch up, huh?”

“This is stupid,” Noctis says into Gladio’s shirt. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re not stupid,” Gladio says. He locks an arm around Noctis’ waist. It won’t stop him if he’s really determined, but it’ll give Gladio some time. “Look. You’re right. In pretty much all the ways that matter, I’m yours. You’re not alone, okay?”

Gladio wishes he could see Noctis’ face, but it’s still buried in his chest. Noctis doesn’t make an effort to raise it.

“I just wanted one thing,” Noctis says. His breath is starting to come faster, hitching. Gladio squeezes him closer. “I’m supposed to, to be king, and the Chosen, and I will, but I want one thing that’s mine. Because I _decided_ I wanted it, not because I’m supposed to.”

Suddenly Noctis lifts his chin to look at Gladio; his lower lashes are wet. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he says, low and fierce, raw, “I shouldn’t have decided it was you.”

Gladio is reminded, in a flash of sense memory, of waking sweaty and tangled in his bedsheets, begging silently for permission to come, an imaginary voice purring _no_ and _you belong to me_ \--

“Yes,” he says, a total surprise to both of them. “You should have. Look, Noct. Maybe you didn’t do it in the best way. But.”

He stops. Noct just found out about his dad. _Gladio_ just found out about the king. This could all be an artificial construction of stress and upheaval, Noctis reaching for a stable constant in his life.

Fuck. He can see Noctis withdrawing again in the face of his hesitation, and he knows with utter certainty that if he misses this chance, any sort of rapport with Noctis about this will be gone forever.

He tugs Noctis up and kisses him.

It’s not much better than the first attempt, honestly. The angle is still awkward, Noctis’ arms trapped low between them so he doesn’t have leverage, and their lips too tense. After a moment Gladio lets him go.

“Okay?” he says.

Noctis blinks at him, twice, in rapid succession.

“Okay.”

After a moment Noctis rolls off him and grabs his bokken again. “I’m going to hit you this time,” he says, voice full of false bravado. Gladio allows him the facade.

“Sure, princess,” he says, gripping his own wooden sword. “Just try it.”

 

Somehow, dating the Crown Prince isn’t a total disaster. In fact things work out pretty well, all things considered, except for the one point of tension that started everything in the first place.

“I want to help you,” Noct says one night. They’re lying on the couch ostensibly to watch a movie, but in reality the movie is terrible so they’ve moved on to making out instead. 

“With what?” Gladio says, and when Noct nudges his knee high into Gladio’s thigh he sighs heavily. “Noct.”

“I’m not going to _make_ you.” Noct sounds offended that Gladio would even think so. Which is patently untrue, given how they got together.

“Good,” Gladio says, and kisses Noct so he doesn’t say anything else. They don’t talk much after that.

But Gladio can’t get it out of his head. Isn’t this what he’s wanted? For years? And the more he wonders, the more possibilities come bubbling up: wouldn’t it be a responsibility that would prepare Noctis to take the throne? A chance for Gladio -- for both of them -- to finally see Noctis take some control?

He thinks about it for nearly two weeks, although after the first he pretty much knows what he’s going to decide. The second is just to work up his courage.

“Come over tonight,” he says to Noct after their training session. He sneaks a glance at the door: safe, so he steals a kiss.

“Sure.” Noct grins at him, silly, and Gladio’s belly flips a little. He’s acting ridiculous.

That night he cooks them dinner. Nothing as fancy as Ignis can make, but it’s good enough, stir fry with eggs and leek and some leftover ribs.

“I thought about what you said,” Gladio murmurs into Noct’s ear, and kisses it gently to hear his little gasp.

“Yeah?” Noct is already breathless, hips twisting to press closer to Gladio.

“Yeah,” Gladio says. He backs off. “But we should start slow. You want to see?”

Noctis bites his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He nods.

“Come on.” Gladio moves to the living room. It’d be easier in the bedroom, really, but that’s too suggestive for what he’s trying to do tonight. Noctis follows him like he’s tied on a string, nearly stepping on Gladio’s heels, and his eagerness is a sweet burning pleasure deep in Gladio’s gut like a low-banked fire.

He wore the cage in prep. It’s tight already, which maybe isn’t the best, but then again maybe it is. Noctis seemed to like the idea of it, anyway, and he probably saw some pictures when he ‘looked it up’ -- Gladio will have to debunk all the wrong things he learned from random leather sites. That’s fine.

Noct kisses him again after he unbuckles his belt. He does it deep and hungry, sucking on Gladio’s tongue, and ends it with a vicious nip, hard enough for Gladio to taste copper. Gladio’s fingers fumble a little on the zipper.

“Oh,” Noct says when he pulls his underwear down, his eyes wide. “It’s _really_ pretty.”

Gladio’s cock is red and plump, swollen against the slender titanium of the cage; it surrounds him perfectly, delicate swirls all around with cross-sections in the vague shape of a sword, or a curled feather, and ending in a ring that frames the head. He had it custom made to fit. 

“Can I…?” Noctis reaches out a hand. Gladio works hard not to flinch as he touches him, skin hot between the metal. He’s hard enough for it to start hurting. When Noct touches the pad of his finger to the tip, delicately rubbing, he steps back.

“Enough,” he says hoarsely. He’s sweating.

Noctis looks up at him. His pupils are wide and dark, lips parted; he looks like a wet dream come to life. Gladio clenches his hands into fists behind his back and stands firm.

“Not yet,” he grits out, and isn’t sure if he’s saying it to Noct or himself. “Not yet.”

 

Things go on like that for another few weeks. Gladio and Noct kiss, sometimes with wandering hands, sometimes for long enough that Noct grinds against Gladio’s thigh, and eventually allows Gladio to strip him bare and stroke him until he comes. Gladio wears the cage, and wakes up with an erection at least once a night, and can’t decide if he’s having the best or worst time of his life.

“Wait,” Noct mumbles into Gladio’s mouth one night. He licks Gladio’s lip in apology as he pulls away, rubbing his face along Gladio’s stubble and then over his chest, pausing to suck idly at a nipple. Gladio grits his teeth.

“What are you doing.” It’s not so much a question as a plea. Gladio can’t believe Noct can wreck him so thoroughly; he’s supposed to be the harsh one, not giving in to the prince’s every whim.

“I want to try something.” Noct’s thin, clever fingers hook into Gladio’s waistband and pull. Gladio hisses as he’s exposed to the air, cock hard, balls cinched tight by the cage.

“What,” Gladio gets out, before Noct leans his head down and _licks_ him. “ _Oh_ f--”

The visual is so good: Noct with his eyes closed and his tongue out, wet and pink on him, between the silver lines of the cage, almost better than how it feels, how it _hurts_ \--

Noct looks up at the raw noise that emerges from Gladio’s throat. “You can’t get all the way hard with this one, right?”

Gladio’s fingers clench tight enough to feel the strain in his knuckles. “Yeah.”

Something deep and dark flashes through Noct’s eyes. His mouth quirks in a satisfied smirk _identical_ to King Regis’ when things go his way in the Council. “Good.”

Gladio wonders, half hysterically as Noct bends his head down again, just what he’s unleashed.

 

A week later, he gives Noct his key.

**Author's Note:**

> let us all lie here in the mud


End file.
